


The Trick is to Keep Breathing

by lazarus_girl



Category: Faking It (TV 2014)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 07:22:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5996722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since her return from the tour, things between Karma and Amy are difficult. Lonely and isolated, Amy wonders if things between them can ever be the same when an unexpected act of kindness from Karma changes everything.</p><p>
  <i>“You have no one to blame but yourself.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trick is to Keep Breathing

**Author's Note:**

> Follows canon. Karmy centric. I’ve had this ready for a while, but wanted to save it so it could be my Valentine’s Day gift to you all. Since my stories recently have been about _that summer_ , I decided to switch it up and look at how things between the girls might be once Amy got back. Then, I added the twist of Valentine’s Day to the timeline I built and this is the result. To tell you anything else would spoil too much. Title from/inspired by the Garbage song of the same name.

_“Sometimes I shrink from your knowing what I have felt for you,_  
_and sometimes I am distressed that all of it you will never know.”_  
– Thomas Hardy, _Far from the Madding Crowd._

*******

Karma’s right in front of you, but you miss her.

Since you got back off the tour, nothing’s been the same. You grew, you changed, you learned, you got everything out of it you were supposed to, and it’ll look great on college applications. Except, you lost your best friend in the process. That grocery line nightmare you told Shane about once? It happened … kind of. You and Karma are still friends, you still hang out, but it’s different. The love, and the care, and the … well, the intimacy between you is all gone. Somehow, that’s worse than if you’d cut her out of your life completely. You gave it serious thought, and until you got back to Austin, it was what you were prepared to do, but then you came into The Brew & Chew for one last lunch with the band girls and Karma was your waitress, and your plans fell apart completely.

You have no one to blame but yourself.

Months later, you’re still here at The Brew & Chew, sitting on the vintage tan sofa, with your laptop on the coffee table in front of you, attempting to look busy, but you haven’t written anything for Mr Perovic’s paper that’s three days late, and you don’t really care. You have too much in your head to worry about his wrath. Too much has happened that you still haven’t processed. Karma’s busy working, flitting between where Ivy and the other baristas are serving and clearing the empty tables. It doesn’t feel right to disturb her. You don’t want her to get in trouble, so you’re reduced to the odd smile when you catch her eye.

The road put miles – thousands of miles – between you, Karma, and Austin, and it helped you a lot, but it didn’t fix everything. Distance wasn’t the magic cure-all you thought it might be. Your feelings for her, because of her, and in spite of her, are still there. That sounds bad, you’re well aware. It sounds like nothing’s changed and that you’re still moping over her and she’s still oblivious to it, but that’s not true.

Everything’s changed.

When you were planning out how your final year at Hester would go, trying not to throw up as you endured the journey between venues, crappy motels, 7-Eleven’s, and gas stations soundtracked by country and oldies on the ancient van radio, it was nothing like this, even if you managed to achieve a lot of the items on the list you made back then. You got a part-time job as a photographer’s assistant. Check. You got onto the yearbook committee. Check. You got your film elective with Mr Conway. Check. You finally got to write for the school newspaper, and Sara Auerbach and Drew Adams – Hester’s answer to Lois Lane and Clark Kent – are people you’d call friends. Check. The boys in AV Club have finally accepted you thanks to Oliver. Check. You even joined the GSA after you saw Ivy putting up the flyers, which meant you’ve spent more time talking about your feelings than you ever have. Check.

Going off the success of that, you should be happy, right? Wrong.

There’s one, huge, glaring omission in that list of successes. You’ve failed completely to get back on good terms with Karma and put the past behind you. Even now, a huge part of you wants Netflix, and _House Hunters_ , and for it just to be you and Karma again. You miss your friend. You miss being in her life. You miss knowing things. You just miss _her._ Leaving Austin for the summer meant you learned to deal with your feelings for Karma, that you put them away in a box of things never to be - and you’re fine with that, she can’t help what she doesn’t feel - but you never expected there would come a time where she wouldn’t be your bestest, closest friend, who knew everything about you, and was the first person you told whenever something huge (or not so huge) happened in your life. You’re just ordinary friends now – polite small talk friends who sit together in class and at lunch, and sometimes hang out on weekends when you’re both not working or slammed with school.

Deep down, you know it was inevitable, but that doesn’t mean it hurts any less. You used to think that grocery line nightmare was the worst thing imaginable. This is worse.

For everything you’ve achieved since you came back, academically, and socially, emotionally speaking, you’re still very much lacking. A year or so ago, you would’ve thought that having an ex-girlfriend was weird, a spanner in the works of your life. Now, you have an ex-boyfriend to add to that list. Somehow, that’s ever weirder. You wish it _was_ some guy you met on the road (and there were some), and not Felix. Sweet, kind, dorky, cinephile, nerd, makes-you-laugh Felix, because it would’ve been easier to try and understand why it didn’t work out. It should’ve, girls and guys all over the place would kill for a boyfriend like him. You’re starting to think it’s self-sabotage, going around throwing away perfectly good girlfriends and boyfriends because they’re not quite right. For a while, it was good. It was fun, and you fell into a relationship easily when Felix came back clean and sober from rehab a few weeks into the new semester. Things became official at Thanksgiving. For a while, you made your mother’s dreams come true, for all her progress, she was still happier seeing you with him. Not only did you end up dating a boy, but he was the principal’s _son_. Win-win. She had the seating patterns for the wedding all ready to go. He got invited to dinner and stayed in the spare room while Principle Turner – you refused to call him George – found an apartment, leasing Karma’s house back to her parents. He was _allowed_. He was _welcomed_. She doesn’t know it, but letting him stay led to the one and only time you slept together, fumbling in the dark. Suddenly, you knew what Karma meant when she used to say it ‘felt like the right thing to do.’ Though it eradicated your experience with Liam, and wasn’t nearly as horrendous, it wasn’t what you were expecting either. There was _something_ between you, an attraction, it wasn’t just displaced feelings, you know that. It was nice enough, but it was nothing like that first night with Reagan. He was nervous and trying too hard, and you were nervous and trying too hard.

It was doomed from the start.

On paper, you and Felix worked, but off paper? It was complex and weird, not least because of his friendship with Karma (that was now somehow better than your own), but dating the principal’s son also gave you a layer of visibility at school you didn’t particularly want or need. It caused too many questions and strange looks. The end too, was inevitable. It came at Christmas break. All incredibly mature and adult, with Felix sitting you down to say he could see you weren't happy. He was right. There were tears and hugs, and you tried to explain and say you were, but it was no good. It had to end. You promised to stay friends, and you’ve managed that. Honestly, it’s better. Now, you realise that you weren’t happy _enough_ with him. That’s how you’ve described it to other people, and in very brief terms to Karma. Could you have carried on until college? Maybe. Would you feel any better for it? Probably not.

You thought once things with Felix ended, you and Karma might go back to the way you were before the summer, that the awkwardness and the tension would dissipate, but it hasn’t. The distance between you is the same, and you have no idea how to traverse it. There’s an invisible wall separating you, built on things you can’t say, won’t do, and will never, _ever_ talk about. Right at the top of the list? What you may or may not feel for each other. Now you wish you’d stayed in Austin. Those six weeks away feel like a lifetime.

“I thought you could use this,” a voice says, and there’s a musical clink as a cup and saucer is set down on the table. “Just so you know, we’re closing in a little while.”

You lift your head, finally tearing your eyes away from your laptop screen where a gaudy screensaver swirls. The cafe is much quieter now, with more baristas than customers, and they’re starting to clean the machines. It’s a surprise to see Karma standing there, her silver nametag close enough to read.

“Oh, thanks,” you reply, just managing to smile. “I should get going then.”

“It’s our new flavour, chocolate fudge brownie latte,” she offers brightly, completely ignoring what you just said. She’s trying hard. _Too_ hard. “No hazelnut syrup though, I didn’t want to risk it. There’s caramel instead, so maybe it’s a caramel brownie?”

You smile again, touched by her thoughtfulness and reach forward, taking the cup from the table and lifting it to take a sip. It’s only then you see the chocolate decoration on the latte: a heart. It makes something in you twist and ache. Your own heart perhaps. “This is good,” you deflect. “I like it.” It tastes rich and sweet and comforting. It’s exactly what you need right now. Somehow you keep from downing it all at once for the caffeine hit.

She beams. “Max will love you. It was his idea,” she motions toward her boss at the counter, looking surly as he counts money. “Anyway, I’m glad you like it.”

Everything about her body language signals the end of the conversation, but she looks unsure of what to do, rocking on her heels slightly, and fiddling with the ties on her apron. You’re compelled to move your backpack, hoping she takes it as a signal to sit.

She glances over at the counter, seeing Max and Ivy distracted. “Been a pretty sucky Valentine’s Day hasn’t it?” she ventures, sitting hesitantly on the edge of the couch.

A whole seat cushion separates you, as if the bag is still there. Somehow, that makes you sadder.

You sigh deeply, down at your coffee instead of her. “Yeah, the horrible Pepto Bismol pink decorations, the flowers, and the candy everywhere got old pretty quick.”

“Oh I know!” she nods. “What about those gross singing telegrams at school? Who came up with that?”

“Lauren,” you offer, and it says it all, taking another sip of your coffee.

“Ah, our wonderful social chair,” she comments, wryly.

You both laugh. It releases some of the tension you hadn’t realised was there. However briefly, it feels something like normal. The normal you used to take for granted.

Just watching Lauren organise the Valentine’s Day festivities has been exhausting. The singing telegrams _are_ gross, to you at least. Especially now. You’re over Felix of course, and other people have asked you out, even Holly, that cute girl from the GSA, but you’re just not interested. As a result, this entire day has only served to show you how very alone you are. Lauren is back with Theo – Anthony, whatever the hell his name is this week – and Shane has a new boyfriend, Adam, who he’s batshit crazy about. Seriously and legitimately crazy about to the point it’s kind of nauseating. To make matters worse, he bailed on you hours ago for an unexpected hang out. And Karma? Well, Karma is very much single. For the first time in a while, she has no crush, no boyfriend, and no ridiculous scheme to snare one either. You kind of wish she did, because she loves Valentine's. Not so long ago, it was her life’s mission to get one of those telegrams. She always thought they were the cutest thing ever, always one for grand gestures. You wonder what changed, when she became so different or rather, so indifferent to things she used to enjoy.

When you were younger, back in elementary and middle school, you used to write each other cards. Once you hit high school, you added in movie nights with Cheetos and Ben and Jerry’s into the day’s traditions, ending it with bingeing Ryan Gosling movies on Netflix. Ryan, Karma said, would never let you down. Karma also said she’d always love you, and you would always love her, so you’d always be each other’s valentine.

In spite of everything, you still think that’s true, in its own way.

“Are you OK?” she asks, after a moment.

You must look as bad as you feel. It’s the first time anyone’s asked you that in a while, much less her.

“I will be tomorrow,” you shrug.

She nods sympathetically. “I ran into Jake today. Great timing. He was with Candice again,” a pause. “The new girlfriend.”

You put the cup back in its saucer and turn to look at her, surprised that she’s being so forthcoming. Maybe it’s the day, or maybe enough time has passed to stop every other day that’s come before it from mattering. An armistice of sorts. Peace declared in a silent war.

“Oh, well that sucks.”

He was the least douchey and self-absorbed of the guys Karma’s dated. But that’s a pretty low bar if you go off what you heard from Shane about her flings from the summer, which was sometimes wildly different from what she chose to tell you during the few times you really talked. First, there was Hot Chris the Lifeguard – actually, he’s called Chris Ziering, but it’s not untrue. Also not untrue is the fact that he’s a complete dick, who spends _way_ too much time looking in the mirror. Then, there was a five-minute thing with Danny Mitchell, who goes to Texas A &M, and spends his summers working at the gas station by school, giving out sly free scratchers. Even you’d say that Jake was a vast improvement. You actually _liked_ him. You even hung out a few times, and being a little older meant he could actually hold a conversation, so he was much closer to being her equal for once. He played here every afternoon for a while, live and acoustic. She kept him in bottled water and iced tea. They dated pretty much the whole time while Candace hung around like a pathetic groupie sipping on chai lattes. Karma never really explained why it didn’t work out, beyond something about them ‘being at different stages in their lives.’ She’s over the break-up, but you know from the little she’s shared, that Candice – a boho-gypsy-princess-Stevie-Nicks-clone – is making things hard for her.

“It does. It was pretty awkward,” she says, sadly. “She’s really pretty.”

“His loss,” you reply, firmly, shifting a little closer to her. “Really.”

You hold back from saying anything else, you’re both smarter than that now. For the record, Karma _is_ prettier than Candice. Objectively speaking.

“I know, it was just really bad timing,” she shrugs. “God!” she exclaims. “How pathetic are we?”

You puff out a long breath. “The only thing that would make this scene worse is empty Cheetos bags and Ben and Jerry's cartons.”

“Don’t you mean better?” she says with a smile.

“Oh, and Netflix. The romance section, so we can weep and lament our sad, sad lives,” you hold up your coffee to her in toast, before savouring the last of it.

“And these are meant to be the best years, Amy. Remember?” she says, imitating your mother perfectly.

You’re laughing then, loud and full, along with her, falling back against each other on the couch. You turn to look at each other, still laughing. She takes your hand in hers, squeezing it. And just like that, you’re back. Karma’s back. Something’s shifted. Everything feels a little less painful. A little less impossible.

“I’m sorry,” you say, at the same time as her, “I missed you.”

You both smile, acknowledging the moment, but it’s sad. Those words are long overdue.

“I, erm,” she begins, nervously. “I got you something else.”

“Oh?” you venture, watching as her hand slips into the front pocket on her apron. It’s an envelope, metallic red. You inhale sharply at the sight of it. You thought she’d forgotten. She hasn’t. After everything, she hasn’t.

“I know it’s stupid, but I didn’t want to break tradition,” she continues, earnestly. You can’t help but be touched. “You don’t have to open it.”

“I didn’t want to break tradition either,” you reply softly, reaching into your bag for your own card. “We’ve always spent Valentine’s together.”

You’ve been carrying it around all day, fretting over the message inside for days before that. What was too much? What was too little? When had these stupid lines been drawn anyway? In the end, you went for simple, honest, and heartfelt. You exchange envelopes, cautious and embarrassed, suddenly aware of who might be watching and what they could say. Somewhere in the exchange, your fingertips brush with Karma’s and you both look away, nervously clearing your throats. There’s something there, you feel it. Your pulse quickens in response.

“You first,” she instructs, and it suddenly feels very important.

You nod, and puff out a quick breath to steady yourself. Just like always, the envelope is sealed with Karma’s lipstick kiss. And, and like always, you hate breaking the seal to open it. Carefully, you open it, peering inside to find a cartoon drawing of you both with a huge heart in the middle. This year, you’re comic book heroes. She’s made you look like Supergirl to her Black Widow.

“This is so cool,” you smile again, full and bright as your trace your fingertips over the drawing. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she says, quieter than you’ve ever heard her. “It’s true, what it says in there. I’m not joking.”

You glance over at her, nervous suddenly, because this exchange has always been about fun and happiness, just to make the day count for something else under than the hideous commercialisation of romance.

“I know,” you say, hoping she understands that you mean it too.

The confetti of lips and hearts explodes over your lap when you open it, just like it has every other year. You shake your head, laughing a little. Quite quickly, it’s clear that she’s been worried about her message too. You wonder if she tore up notebooks and filled up the trash with futile attempts like you did. You look down at the message and over at her, not quite believing your eyes. Her own card is open, neon pink with a glitter heart and crushed rose petals inside to combine her love of bright, sparkly things and romantic things in one.

“We wrote the same message,” she says, soft and awed.

“We did,” you breathe, looking back down it at, and read it again.

_Amy,_

_I don’t know if you’ll get to read this message, but I do want you to know this: whatever happens between us, and no matter how far apart we are, you’ll always be my valentine._

_I love you like no one else in this world. Never forget it._

_Karma xxxx_

The words blur in front of you, and you realise you’re crying. When you look over at Karma, she’s crying too.

“You mean it, still?” she asks, voice cracking with emotion. You close your card, placing it carefully on the table before moving closer to her.

“Yes. I mean it,” you say, sniffing back tears. “I know I’m not supposed to love you anymore, but I do. I _always_ will,” you pause to collect yourself, taking your card from Karma’s hands and replace it with yours. “I know, I’m not allowed to say _that_ either.”

“I thought you didn’t love me anymore?”

There’s something horrible and pained about the way she says it that suckers you, right in the chest, like a punch, quick and sharp. For so long now, everything you’ve said and done has pointed towards you being over her, having packed your feelings away neatly in some box never to be opened.

You wanted to believe that too. You’re both wrong.

“Don’t you get it?” you reply, framing her face with your hands, gently brushing her tears away. “I could never do that. _Ever_.”

“Oh, Amy,” she whispers, small and fragile. “I’ve been thinking about you, about us, for so long. About what it meant when you left.”

“Karma, don’t.”

You’ve been over that in your head a lot. Too much. You’re not about to take another trip on that particular emotional rollercoaster.

“I’ve been,” she pauses, gulping in air, trying to steady herself, “I’ve been looking for all these things, for this epic romance, and for someone to love me, and there you were. I don’t know why it took me so long to see it. I’ve hurt you, and I’ve made you so fucking miserable."

“It’s OK,” you assure her, brushing away fresh tears when they fall. “I hurt you too. You’ve been miserable too.”

“I think maybe I’d be less miserable with you,” she’s saying it in that same soft little voice.

“I think so too,” you reply, cautiously.

Hesitantly, you move forward, closing the little distance that’s between you, holding back for what feels like an eternity before brushing your lips against hers gently. She whimpers, clasping her hands around your wrists for purchase. Her whole body is shaking. She’s terrified. So are you. All you want to do is make it better, so you kiss her again, just as soft, and just as gentle, but this time, she kisses back, giving into it, giving into you in a way you’ve only felt once before. Except, this time there’s no harsh lighting or crappy, ugly curtains in a crappy, ugly motel room. You keep kissing, searching, soothing. This time, there’s a warm cafe, and the tinkling of cups, and whirring machines, but it’s _right_. Everything about it is right. Even if it’s taken too long, and you were almost too late.

“What do we do now?” you ask when you finally break apart, startled when Ivy comes over to flip over the closed sign, making the bell on the cafe door ding. You look at her, and she looks at you, but she says nothing, smiling instead.

“I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out it, OK?” she’s smiling through her tears, and she throws her arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You close your eyes, breathing her in, squeezing her tightly.

It’s been so long since she’s held you like this. Too long. There will be questions, you know that, people will be confused, and you’ll have to explain a million things to your mother, and Lauren, and Shane, and Zen, and Karma’s parents. You’ll be visible –  _painfully_ visible – at school again, but you don’t care.

You don’t know how you’ll do that right now, and you don’t have many other answers either, but you do know one thing: you’re not about to walk away from this, and you’re never leaving Karma again.


End file.
